Apathetic Workplace

Apathetic Workplace

The apathy has got its grip in me

Fishing lure barbed plastic ascetic moored

In the levee blockade of regret it

I want beyond this bunker hill of road kill

Clumped here in sophomore redemption

Out in intangible contention that nothing I am doing

Makes a damn bit of difference, these thoughts blank consequence

I want a reason and division for a mission

Crash this obstruction and grand judge of the margin

Adjudicate how close to the edge we can stuff these pages

With greed I have got too many ignorant minds chalk full of

Reality show dialogues that there is no room to feed

A novel idea, put the bullet through one ear and pray it exits the other

Is it possible to fail at every endeavor even falling down when gravity

Was supposed to be an absolute?

Every intention is now just employment static and certain and hope is

More dead than dormant, Boss hires him well give him the baton,

What’s the fucking difference there is no place for me here beyond

This to attempt to achieve, just a full realization that I really do despise having

To work so hard just to speak, the futility in communicating is crushing my desire to breathe, when I call on the phone I am always referred to as mam, when I make a request no one hears the sentence and just goes on with unaltered plans, I feel hated so I hate you back, I feel ignored so I ignore you back, I am just a misanthrope edged to the margins

With no ink left in the vat for this quill just a blank page and a feather resorting to blood

To say a God damn thing to this world and no response even when the whole page is filled in a crimson smear all that results is a blur and just as nonexistent unclear

I don’t want to do this my soul is just tired, my body is failing and the tread has worn off my tires.  My arms are heavy breaking into splinters and sequins, I can hardly stay awake

At two in the afternoon just give me the solace to know I will not have to be exhumed

I always knew it would end up this way

If bored to death is an illness, I am no longer just a hypochondriac

Each day is killing me in a thousand inane paper cuts

Slicing in the blank space with liquid paper chloroform

Asphyxiate these thoughts before the print dries